[M] monstrous

Salvia Eternity · 07-24-2012, 11:56 PM

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WARNING: This thread contains material exceeding the general board rating of PG-13. It may contain very strong language, drug usage, graphic violence, or graphic sexual content. Reader discretion is advised.

(2639) date tbd

There was something frightful happening to her. At least, Salvia supposed it might be frightening to others, had they any idea of this subtle, inevitable shift. With the rise of maturity had come another, more pressing instance from her body. She had experienced something similar only once or twice before, and knew not what to make of it then. A part of her wished to speak to her mother about it, but Salvia no longer considered the thing that Eris had become a part of her. She felt very alone in the world, but this solitude, it was acceptable. There were Others, of course; the two slave women who lived in her home, who tended to her needs. She was particularly pleased with the acquisition of the coyote.

The stirring in her body became unbearable. Frustrated, Salvia left Salsola’s safe borders behind. She traveled on four legs for a time, then two—she walked endlessly, roaming, a pale shape traversing abandoned roads and forgotten byways. It was through these means that she trailed, finally, into the ruins of a fallen city.

Salvia stood, unarmed, nude, hair loose and wild, and scented the air. It was a dry-rot smell, like old leather, and under this iron, and under this further, brick and stone. Others had come through here. A horses’ droppings had been dried up and scattered along the street she followed, and she spotted a scrap of fur tangled up in a fenceline. The blonde girl observed these things in the manner of a hunter/tracker. She was a good student, and her natural talent had only been aided by a pair of wise cats and a clever beast she called King.

The thought of Sirius sent an ache through her, starting low between her legs. She frowned. It was not entirely unpleasant, but she didn’t like her body betraying her in such a manner. The blood was troublesome enough, but Eris had told her long ago about such things happening, and she did not fear it. Axi, even, had reassured her the first night, when Salvia had been half-panicked and wondered if she was wounded.

A whisper stirred in the dark. Salvia’s ears rose high and her tiger’s gaze swept over the street. She was alone, but she sensed this was not true. Tak, her father’s voice whispered, and she felt the fur along her spine prickle at the thought.

She continued on, but her steps became slow, baiting. A shuffle behind her; a noisy hunter, inexperienced in the landscape, inexperienced in the prey he followed. Salvia turned into an alleyway, where even the traces of starlight could not reach, and waited.

The man was close to her in size. He was a dark gray, mottled with patches of brown and timber. His eyes were yellow, and wide. A pink tongue hung from his jaws, which were open, scenting the air as if he could taste her on it. She watched him with that interested tiger’s gaze and spoke, lowly and clearly.

“Why are you following me?”

His face crinkled at that, as if her question was strange. “I didn’t mean to,” he began. “I’m not from around here. I saw you and figured you could help.”

It was a lie. She saw this on his face, in his eyes. There should have been fear in her belly, but she had not feared much since long before the death of her father. Green eyes bore poison into him; she would capture him through the holes in his eyes, as she did with the sheep.

“I’m not from here either,” she said, and, thinking of things she had seen others do, tilted her head in a feminine manner so that her hair pulled over one shoulder. It felt peculiar, pretending like this. “I don’t think I’ll be of much help.”

His tongue flitted out of his mouth again. He took a step forward and she took in his scent; saltwater, brick—he was squatting near here. No pack. Something else, too, smelled off about him. She didn’t realize what until her eye caught the other pink thing between his legs. Her body instinctively stiffened.

“Oh I don’t know about that,” he guffawed, and took another step forward. “You sure do smell good. We could help each other out, eh?”

Salvia’s interested tiger’s gaze burned in the dark. She smiled savagely. Her mother had warned her about these things; she dreamed about them. Sometimes, she wondered if her brother bedded whores in Freetown. She imagined he did while she, pristine and perfect, went about her duties. What was sex to her? She did not know. She wondered, briefly, if this was how she would learn. The wolf was fair looking enough, and he looked strong—would he take her if she refused? He would, she reasoned, and something inside of her rebelled at the thought.

She closed the distance between them. “You think so?” She purred, and let one hand trail to his chest. He growled under her touch and she felt his hips arch towards her.

“Oh I do,” he rumbled. “You could come back with me. I’ve got some magic with my things.”

Drugs. A girl of another place—perhaps one of those soft packs from the south—might not have known such a thing. Salvia did; she knew the names and signs of them, and which could call gods and demons. She knew all these things and believed so few because her mother had not proven them. In her own way, Salvia was simple. Her world was simple shades; black, gray, white.

So she went with him, conscious of his presence and how he yearned to touch her, feigning interest, feigning everything. She felt nothing. Even when they reached a collection of odds-and-ends (mostly worthless, she appraised coldly) she felt no tingling of fear, no excitement. This was a new hunt, but a hunt none the less. Even when she was acting as prey, she was pretending. The lie, at least, felt good. She liked the way he was captivated. She liked how superior she felt.

He produced a leather bag that stunk of dank marijuana. From this he pulled further things—dried plants, she saw, rolled items. A disgusting looking bottle of some swill. She watched him quietly, smiling and patient, aware that she must perfect the mask.

The wolf offered her all of these things, and she obliged but for the alcohol, though she pretended quite well. Then he leered over at her, all eyes, all teeth, and she felt the faintest twinge of hesitation within her. Something stronger prevailed and her mind closed around it like a steel cage.

She shuffled back into the night, into the dark where Tak lingered, and slowly sank to the ground. He was much faster, and pushed her down none too softly. Her breath was controlled, calm. She felt hot and cold all over; emotionally, she felt nothing.

This was no kind lover. He was greedy and explored her body with his hands, touching the firm muscles of her legs. His fingers dug into the white-blonde fur of her undercoat and sought out her nipples, which grew hard at the touch. She made no noise, but watched him, curiously, as he scraped his tongue over them. Her loins tightened at the motion and she arched up into it, drawing a growling chuckle from her partner.

Then his fingers moved between her legs and she felt them enter her. Both of her hands reached for his arms, but one was pushed down roughly. “Ah-ah-ah,” the man hushed her, and swiped his tongue over her breasts again. She gripped his other arm none the less and tilted her head to better see.

He did not waste time with much foreplay. The damp heat between her legs stunk like copper and something she did not recognize. A low whine escaped the man, who looked down at her without seeing her. “Goddamn,” he whispered, and she wondered if he was even talking to her.

Then he entered her roughly, parting her with no grace. She tensed and felt a fireball ripple through her. He thrust into her with great need, forgetting about the rest of the body. His hands dropped to the ground and he held himself taunt, but this proved too little. Salvia felt his hands wrap around her waist and pull her up, and suddenly the sensation in her was deeper, was strange, and she knew that it was right, it was meant to be this way. She thought of the first time she had taken the drugs with her mother. Something in her bellowed, but she was silent, wide eyed and breathing deeply in the dark.

His hands grappled her at the hips, shoving her down onto him even as he thrust. The speed was one of desperation. She tried to imagine what drove a man to such places even as her head began to lose true focus. There was only the heat, and the growing pressure within her loins.

“Fucking say something, cunt,” the wolf hissed, and fixated a half-mad look on her.

The shock of the tone was enough to clear her head. No one had ever spoken to her in such a manner, let alone called her that. She was a princess—no, she was a Queen. Her belly felt cold even as the pressure, the heat, pushed her to the brink.

“Tak,” she whispered. He could not look away from her now; she had him, caught his eyes, captured him through those holes. This was power, she thought suddenly. His tongue was dripping clear, sticky saliva onto her breasts. One hand was on the firm curve of her ass, the other tugging at her lower back. She stared up at him, rocking into the motion. The corners of her vision filled with red light, like a reflection in ice. “Os pa,” she went on, and found that she knew the words even though she did not. Something terrible was speaking to her, in her mind, in the dark place where her father’s spirit had gone.

She knew, then, that she had known all along what would happen.

“Fucking…” (a thrust, a grunt) “…crazy…” (he licked at her breasts and bit on one of them, hard) “…bitch…”

Each thrust took her deeper into the dark. Her eyes widened to pools of black, ringed with an impossibly savage green. She had him—his sarx, his soul—and that whisperer came to her again. She pulled herself up into him, driving him back, driving him up. He mistook her need for want and pulled her atop him, burying his face into her chest and grunting like a boar.

“Mi him,” she hissed breathily, and dug her nose low, towards his shoulder. She could feel his pulse through his neck.

“Can de lach,” the tigress purred, wide-eyed, staring into impossible blackness. Another pair of eyes shown forth—her father’s eyes? No; they were not that jack-o-lantern orange but instead the color of dying embers, of black coal laced with every changing red. It was the color of a forgotten fire; but it was true blackness there, and the light glowed without giving off light. The voice spoke to her again and she saw the shadow ripple and flicker.
“Mi him, min en tow,” he said, speaking through her. Salvia heard the man groan into her. Her lips pulled away from her mouth, exposing all of the pristine, white teeth. Her head snapped forward like a viper and found purchase in a taunt, exposed neck. They bit down, broke through flesh, and closed. The Cicerone’s head rolled and with it brought bubbling, hot blood.

She climaxed as the first gasping death spasm shook the wolf. He opened and closed his mouth dumbly, body panicked, body tensing. Salvia twisted free of the dying man and tasted iron.

The moonlight, thin as it was, turned the blood black.

Salvia turned her hand over, looking at it, eyes massive black holes. Her ears swiveled here and there, listening, hearing, not-hearing. Then she turned and stepped over the still warm body of her first lover. Both hands, sticky with blood, pulled through the junk in the worn leather sack. She kept the drugs; she abandoned his book, a worthless copper ring, and the rest of the alcohol. One hand brushed against something cold and felt a shock.

It was, to her surprise, a metal pendant no larger than her thumb. Solid and tarnished, she stared at the shape and the pattern, trying to make sense of it. A breeze brushed against her and she stiffened, straightening to scent the air. Something familiar, or something imagined to be familiar, caused her to drop. She stuffed the pendant and her other stolen goods into the sack. Reeking of blood and sex, she took a wild, twisting route to the shore. There she dropped her prizes and swam while the drugs wore down.

Sobriety came sooner than she expected, but the shift was minimal. She was not afraid; she was barely moved, returning to the mechanical sort of behavior given to wanderers. Salvia so rarely left Salsola as it was that she felt the trip deserved.

She slept in a half-dug out cave until just before dawn. Then, perhaps as if it had been planned, a familiar scent entered her nose. The wolf slipped out of the rocky overhang and spotted a flash of red amongst the green. With the bag looped around her neck, Salvia followed Abendrot’s trail until a high pitched scream announced his first kill. The pale she wolf came to find her pet sitting over a fat rabbit. Her belly rumbled.

“What do you have there?” The cat asked, his rumbling German easier to understand than any other.

“A prize,” she answered, and saw a glimmer of envy in his green eyes. Abendrot very much wanted to fight and kill a wolf. “Give me that there,” her nose gestured. “And I’ll get you one of those fat rabbits from the cage.”

This was turned over without a fight, and the big wolf ate the whole thing, bones and fur and all. The Lynx pulled his lips up in the peculiar, silent laugh of cats. “Where did you wander off to, your Grace?”

Salvia eyed him curiously, and saw something strange in his face. Being a cat, it was nearly impossible to notice—she furrowed her brow and huffed. “What do they say about curiosity?”

The Lynx merely eyed her, shrugged, and rose in a glorious stretch. “Rest then; I’ll bring you whatever more I catch home.” With that he was off, a slip and a flash of red and gold gone into the underbrush. Salvia stared after him and followed the long trail home.

When she got there, Pandemic was gone. Axi, awake and working on something or another in the kitchen, dipped her head low as the girl entered. TK muttered a low word about training and left behind her. Salvia was silent, still, thinking.

“Has he been here?” She finally asked.

“No,” Axi answered, her voice louder than it was around Eris, fluid in her native tongue. “He did not return.”

There was a single twitch in her face. “I’m going to rest. Keep it quiet.”

A nod was given in acknowledgment. Salvia went into the room she had come to now think of her own (no longer considering it Pandemic’s as well), shrugged off the bag, and settled onto the high pile of furs atop a thick and luxurious would-be bed of moss, pine, feathers and down. Her body ached all over. She grunted, twisted onto her side, and as the faint noise of her nanny-turned-servant went on below the louder calls and songs of bird, drifted into a deep sleep.

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